


just short of a fairy tale

by savage_starlight



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 14:25:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17899823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savage_starlight/pseuds/savage_starlight
Summary: The air tastes like ash, but it always does.





	just short of a fairy tale

The air tastes like ash, but it always does. The alienage around her burns with a twisted, terrible heat, dead dogs strewn rotting and bloated in the streets. Children are screaming. Soris is on fire. Shianni has already burned.

She blinks, and it is different. She’s been here before, inside this tower full of corpses that stretches its shadow over the lake.  The waters are dark now, churning with an impending storm. A harsh wind whips the branches from the trees, tears apart the tavern on the shore. The wood lashes across her face and-

The scene has changed again. There is a cavern hung deep with shadows, and a chasm that cuts it in half. Green light spills from it like toxin. She stares into the abyss and hundreds of thousands of darkspawn stare back, screeching in a language she can’t understand that rings like steel picks rammed into her ears. A dragon flies through them, wings beating out such a harsh wind that she expects the cavern to fall down on top of her. She is alone, her chest tight as she chokes on her own throat. Beside her, a woman’s voice whispers the same words on loop in an aimless rasp, _sixth day her screams we hear in our dreams-_

There is a hand on her shoulder that rips her from her nightmare. Amry’s eyes jolt open, and she reacts on instinct. One hand clamps down on the gauntleted wrist of whoever is touching her. The other reaches for a dagger and prepares to attack.

“Whoa, easy!” The intruder pulls away as if panicked, and Amry sits up, breathing hard. The fire still burns against her eyes. It’s several long seconds before it finally clears away to reveal a shadowed but familiar face.

Alistair. Amry exhales slowly, the tension bleeding from her shoulders as she pinches the bridge of her nose. He’s hardly the least welcome visitor to have found her in the throes of such a dream, but she can’t say she’s excited. “Morning,” she murmurs, a fake cheer in her voice that doesn’t quite cover up the raspy quality to it. “My turn for watch?”

“Noooooo,” Alistair says slowly. “You’ve still got another hour or so before that. You were mumbling though – moaning, really. I could hear you all the way across camp.”

Amry smiles with her mouth closed. “What can I say? It was a good dream.”

“And it was making you sound like that?”

“There’s more than one kind of moaning, Alistair.”

“What do you- oh, Maker.” Even in the dim lighting, Amry can see him flush. “I’m not sure if I should apologise for interrupting, in that case.”

“Don’t worry, I think it was almost over anyway.” She grins at the look on his face and pushes herself to her feet. “Want me to take over? You can get some extra sleep.”

Alistair shakes his head as they start back toward the fire. “It’s not so bad, taking watch. Gives me time to think and bond with Barkspawn.”

Amry raises an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth twisting into a wry smile. “You know, he’s gonna bite you one of these days if you keep calling him that.”

“Only if you encourage him. I don’t think he even listens to me. It’s hurtful, really.”

“I’ll make sure to pass that on.” From the far side of the campfire, Scrapper rises from his haunches and trots over to meet them. Amry scratches behind his ears and he nuzzles into her hand. “Hey, boy. Is Alistair bothering you again?” He gives a short, indignant bark that makes her laugh, soft and brief. “I know you don’t like it, but you have to admit – him calling you Barkspawn is a little funny.”

Scrapper huffs like he’s offended, but he seems perfectly content to nestle down between the two of them as they settle around the fire. Amry pets him absently, her gaze drawn to the flames. She takes in a deep breath to steady herself, but then her lungs fill with smoke and suddenly she finds herself choking instead, her throat burning in the phantom heat of her dream. The fire is everywhere, eating away her skin and-

“Amry?” Alistair’s voice breaks through the haze.

“Huh?” Amry blinks and the inferno fades back into the campfire, innocent and crackling. Scrapper whines and nudges her leg, and she pats his head. “Need something, Alistair?”

“I was wondering if you were alright. Guess I’ve got my answer.” She can feel the weight of his concern as he studies her. “That must have been quite the dream, to keep you distracted like this. Lots of interesting and unforgettable things going on.”

“You have no idea,” Amry says, and doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“You really want all the lurid details? I didn’t take you for the type.”

“Oh, very funny. You know what I mean.”

“Don’t be so sure. You may end up with more information than you want.”

Alistair flushes again, though it’s less noticeable this close to the fire. “You know, you could just say no.”

“I could, but where would the fun be in that?” Amry grins, but it doesn’t last. The silence hangs too heavy between them, strung with the weight of Alistair’s all too genuine concern and the questions she’s trying so ineffectually to avoid. At long last, she sighs. “It’s just some after-effects from that extended stroll we took in the Fade a few weeks ago when we were fixing the Circle. It’s fine, really.”

Alistair’s brow furrows. “What’s the Fade got to do with anything? That was over a month ago. You’re still bothered by it?”

“I’m not bothered by it, I just- There really isn’t an easy way to explain this.”

“Do you even want to explain it?”

“Not really, but I don’t have any better suggestions on how to pass the time.” The truth is, she’s annoyed with herself. Amry has spent years mastering the art of keeping her problems hidden. She knows that even blind men can see the anger constantly bubbling beneath her skin, but this is different, personal. In fact, it’s the type of personal she’d just as soon never share with anyone. But she’s done this to herself by drawing attention to her nightmares, so all she can do is push forward and deal with the inevitable sideways looks. “I don’t suppose I’ve told you about my mother dying, have I?”

Alistair blinks, momentarily dumbfounded. “I…what?”

“Thought so. Well, you don’t need the gory details, but long story short she died when I was seven.” The words taste bitter in her mouth, edged with the tone of forced bluntness she always adapts when exposing herself like this. Amry glares into the fire with her hands clasped together, the knuckles white with stress. “I saw it coming before it happened. I have dreams – visions, maybe, I don’t know what humans call them. I barely know what elves call them.”

To Alistair’s everlasting credit, he doesn’t laugh. When he speaks, he seems to choose his words carefully. “You have… dreams? As in the prophetic, Leliana-talked-to-the-Maker type of dreams? Those dreams?”

Amry isn’t quite sure if the doubt she hears in Alistair’s voice is real or only in her imagination, so she tells herself she doesn’t care. “More or less. Except I’ve never dreamed of a world of darkness rushing up to meet me and then gotten a sign from a blessed rosebush.”

“What do you dream about then, exactly?”

“Corpses, mostly.” Amry’s mouth curves into a sharp and bitter smile that fades as quick as it comes. “I don’t remember the ones from back then so well anymore, only that I’d wake up terrified and I’d scream until my mother came in the room. I was actually sick when it finally happened, had been for a while. Thought all the crying and the blood I smelled was just another dream from my head and the fever but- well, you know. The fever stopped and the dream didn’t.” Her voice trails off and she clears her throat. “Anyway, these days it’s much more simple and memorable. The alienage is always on fire, Archie is usually involved, and I can never breathe through most of it. The bodies have stayed though, just changed faces, and ever since we took that lovely stroll through the Fade, whatever control I have on it’s been even more questionable than it was before. Which really, that says a lot, since I learned to live with it more than I learned to control it.”

As if sensing her discomfort, Scrapper nuzzles into Amry’s side. She scratches his head, internally cursing herself for forgetting that he would understand every word she said. It’s just her luck that now even her dog knows her brain is metaphorically scattered everywhere from here to Orlais. Nearly a minute passes before Alistair breaks the silence. “So you have…some connection to the Fade or something, and it gives you strange dreams. But you’re not a mage?”

“Not that I’ve noticed.”

“Do you think anything from the Fade could possess you, if you’re that close to it?”

“Assessing for risks, oh former Templar?” It’s a harsh retort even by her standards, and she doesn’t miss the way Alistair flinches. “I didn’t mean that,” Amry says quickly, hating the fact that she cares enough about his feelings to bother with the amendment. She scrubs a hand over her face. “Look, you had to have already known I’m crazy. Me confirming it shouldn’t come as that much of a surprise.”

“Actually, I think the idea of this is crazy, not you.” Alistair shakes his head, frowning. “I’ve never heard of anything like that. Is that why you always seem to react to everything so quickly too?”

Amry shrugs. “Maybe. The good instincts have always been a part of this whole thing. It’s probably why I haven’t died yet. Valendrian, our elder, he tried to figure out what was going on once, back when it started. His best guess was that I had stronger ties to the beyond than most of us – you know that story about how all elves used to be mages, right? Honestly, I think everyone was baffled that I didn’t accidentally set someone on fire as a kid and end up getting shipped to the Circle.” She can’t help the way her mouth twists at the corner. “Used to scare my father to death, thinking that I’d end up with another way to get in trouble. It would have been his luck.” She remembers his concern even now, the way it had multiplied infinitely after what happened to her mother. He’d always been afraid of losing her to the shemlen one way or another. The only thing that had surprised him or anyone about her recruitment to the Wardens was that it had taken so long to happen.

The silence that hangs between them isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s longer than Amry knows what to do with. She’s resigned herself to the idea that maybe there won’t be a response when Alistair finally speaks again. “If that really is what’s been keeping you alive this long, then I’m grateful,” he admits, his voice soft. “But I can’t imagine what that must be like, to have had dreams like that every time you sleep for all your life. It sounds…terrible.”

Amry huffs a soft laugh. “I wouldn’t waste too much time on sympathy, if I were you. I’ve had a long time to get used to it. Besides, you’re a Warden too. Doubt you escape the visits from Archie.”

“Well, I think the general idea is that if we don’t all die fighting the Blight, the dreams will go away with the archdemon,” Alistair says, his tone so wry it drags a smile out of her. “But I suppose that is a pretty big if, isn’t it?”

“No, not at all. We only have an entire army to recruit, who knows how many darkspawn to kill, an arl to save, and a war-hero-turned-traitor on the throne who we need to depose. And Archie, of course.” Amry gestures to their allies around them – Sten scowling even in his sleep, Morrigan camped so far at the edges that it’s pushing rudeness, Leliana curled up on a bedroll and clutching her symbol of Andraste near Wynne’s tent while five feet away Zevran snores softly with his possessions bundled in a pillow under his head – and she smiles. “All the resources we’ve got, I’d say the odds are in our favour.”

“Riiiiight. Of course they are. Really, there’s no reason for us to worry at all.” Alistair stands and stretches, the plates of his armour clinking together. “If you’re joking again, then you must be feeling better. You… are feeling better, aren’t you?”

Amry frowns at the pause between sentences. It’s not until she looks at Alistair that she realises that he’s already looking at her, studying her intently in a way that she feels like she should have noticed long before now. There’s something concerned in his eyes, a sincerity to his expression that she doesn’t quite know what to do with. For a moment, Amry finds herself frozen, staring back with no idea of how to form words or what it is that she even wants to say.

The moment passes, and Amry looks away. “I….am, actually,” she says, and is surprised to find she means it. She’s not sure if it’s the company or the joking or the fact that Alistair isn’t looking at her like she’s mad even now that he knows the truth about her dreams, but she feels lighter somehow. She’s not sure when it happened, but her hands are no longer clasped together in a white-knuckled grip. Somewhere in the back of her brain, an uneasy thread of the dream still teases itself out into knots of flame and fear, but for the most part….for the most part, she feels at peace.

It takes her a moment before she realises that Alistair is grinning at her. “Then it sounds like my work here is done. Which means now, it’s time for me to get to bed.” He yawns so widely Amry half-expects his jaw to pop.  “You going to be alright taking watch alone?”

Scrapper barks indignantly and Amry gives him a conciliatory pat. “I think that’s Scrap’s way of telling you I’ve got backup.”

“Should have seen that coming. I keep this up and you’ll never like me, will you, boy?” Alistair scratches the Mabari under the chin and smiles at the satisfied bark he gets in reply. “We’ll work on it.” With one final pat, he turns away, retreating to his own bedroll.

Amry watches the fire reflect off his armour, her eyebrows furrowed. Without quite knowing why, she stops him. “Hey, Alistair?” He turns to face her and she feels herself smile, small and crooked but genuine at last. “Sleep well, will you? Tell Archie to piss off if he tries to give you problems.”

Alistair blinks like she’s splashed him with a bucket of cold water. “I- yes,” he says, looking stunned. A moment passes, and a slow smile starts to spread across his face. “Yes, I will. Have a safe watch, Amry. Wake me if you need anything.”

“I will.” Alistair’s gaze lingers on her for a few moments longer before he turns away, and with that, the moment is over. He disappears into his tent and after a few minutes, the sounds of him stripping off his armour fade, leaving her alone with Scrapper’s soft pants and the crackle of the fire, much less threatening in the wake of their conversation.

Long after the noise has all given way to the silent chatter of the night, Scrapper nudges Amry’s leg and startles her out of her thoughts. When she looks at him, he cocks his head inquisitively to the side, and she laughs, soft and quiet so as to avoid waking anyone. “Oh, Barkspawn,” she murmurs fondly as she scratches behind his ear, “I wish I knew, my friend. I wish I knew.” She shifts to a more comfortable position beside him, and together they settle back to watch the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy super-belated Valentine's Day!! Thought I'd try my hand at writing some ship fluff, since I'm getting obsessed with this fandom. The title of this story comes from "Nightmares", by All Time Low. 
> 
> I have about a dozen fic ideas I wanna write (I know, I say that every time) so you may be seeing more of Amry soon. Hope y'all enjoyed, and I'll see you next time!!
> 
> Cheers,  
> Atlas
> 
> tumblr:stillbelievinginfireflies


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